


What Kodos Should Have Said

by JeannetteRankin



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Famine - Freeform, Gen, Parent-Child Relationship, Self-Sacrifice, Tarsus IV, a tarsus fic? in the year of our lord 2020??? it's more likely than you think, bc that's what it was in TOS and I can't frickin remember if he had a canonical name in AOS, for the purposes of this story Jim's brother's name is George
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:35:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28454715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JeannetteRankin/pseuds/JeannetteRankin
Summary: An AOS Tarsus re-write where Kodos is not a monster (still a dramatic asshole, though), and tries to set up a fair system to save as many colonists as possible. Winona Kirk reacts to his decree.
Relationships: James T. Kirk & Winona Kirk
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	1. Chapter 1

_Memory Alpha Archive Object_

_Object Identifier: FCHRP.1092.890.32/t_

_Encoding: text/45FO.5-σ_

_Primary Association: Federation Colonies Historical Records Project_

_Origin Date: 2246.10.5_

_Origin Location: Planet Tarsus IV_

_Object Description: Text of Public Speech by Governor Kodos of Tarsus IV Announcing Famine Emergency Measures_

*

Fellow Tarsans, I wish with all my heart that I had better news to give. You all know the threat we face—our lives, our families, our very existence as a colony are under grave threat.

I will not offer you false hope. I can only come before you to tell you the unvarnished truth, and to ask you to join me in the stringent, but necessary measures that are our only hope of salvaging what we can out of this dire situation.

The last of the scientific reports were delivered to the council this morning. They will be made publicly available, and our head agronomist will make a statement shortly. The report represents countless hours of work from our top scientists, drawing on all their expertise and training. But I can summarize it for you very briefly: there is not enough food.

There is simply not enough food.

We have known for some months now that the blight was reaching serious proportions. I've been moved more than I can say by the tireless and valiant efforts each of you has made. You have spent hours and hours in the fields, applying treatments, digging breaks, and doing everything you could. Your efforts and your courage in the face of this threat have made me proud. But now, despite all that hard work and science could do, the disaster is upon us.

As you know, we submitted a request for federation assistance as soon as it was discovered that the blight had begun affecting the crops outside of the Western Province. That assistance will not save us. Federation aid is on its way, but not in time.

We received a communique last night that the aid ship will arrive in 41 days. Even with all the efforts we could make, restricting rations to the bare minimum … our supplies can last for only half that time.

[pause]

It is a somber and frightening moment. But I am here today to offer a small strand hope. The only hope I can give. Not all of us can make it through this crisis, but our culture and our world can survive.

After receiving the Federation communique and this morning's report, I asked the Council to join me in making the most difficult decision of our lives. The one decision that can offer hope, if not to ourselves, at least to our children. It is with a deep, heartfelt pride and gratitude that I can tell you not one member hesitated. We were unanimous in our decision.

Half of our population can survive until aid arrives. We will be implementing measures which are hard, and bitter, but we are firm in our resolve. Knowing the true spirit of our fellow Tarsans, we have no doubt that, together, we are up to the task. The spirit of our parents and grandparents, who came to this world and made it a home, is with us.

Tomorrow evening, 36 hours from now, all of the council members and myself and my wife will depart from here for the island of Thule. As you know, Thule is a barren place, offering little but rocks and caves. When we arrive, we will surrender all communications technology. We will take with us few possessions, and no food whatsoever. There is space, and shelter, and fresh water on Thule—more than enough for a large population.

Only half our population can survive. And so to Thule, half our population must go. This is the only way. If we were not isolated on the island, families would try to save their loved ones, fights would break out, violence, degradation, and unnecessary suffering would be inevitable.

All who remain on the mainland will be on strict rations, but will have enough food to survive until help arrives in 41 days. Those who go—we shall be on our own, most likely never to return. But if we die, we will die secure in the knowledge that we are saving the lives of our fellow Tarsans. We shall set an example of sacrifice, unity, and pride that will echo throughout the galaxy.

[pause]

I tell you that myself, my wife, and all of the council members have sworn a most sacred oath to go. We have decreed a plan, harsh but necessary, as to how the remainder will be chosen. The full details will be published immediately after I conclude, but here are the main points:

_Point One_ : all children age 12 and below will stay. All Tarsans treasure our children, and they are our best hope for the future. No child will starve. All children will live. With this, this golden and shining hope, all the rest can be borne, and any sacrifice endured.

_Point Two_ : for each family with a child or children under the age of 7, one adult relative may stay along with them. The family will designate the adult to remain and communicate this to the council within twelve hours.

_Point Three_ : anyone who choses to leave for Thule may volunteer to do so. All volunteers must present themselves before nine hundred hours tomorrow morning to the council chambers. For the first five hundred volunteers to appear, each may nominate any one other individual not otherwise designated to stay. The council administrative staff, and their families, are forbidden from volunteering.

_Point Four_ : certain medical staff, research staff, and technological staff will stay in order to continue searching for a solution and to maintain necessary colony functions. These staff have already been notified, and consist in total of 313 individuals.

_Point_ _Five_ : other than the above mentioned groups, a lottery will be held for all colonists. The lottery will be administered by Doctor Gupta, the head of the Capitol Hospital, a man known throughout Tarsus for his integrity, uprightness, and commitment to serving our people. As he has no family of his own, and is required to stay himself due to his position, he is the ideal candidate to operate this lottery. The lottery will take place by random selection overseen by Doctor Gupta, at noon tomorrow. The lottery will select individuals in addition to any volunteers, my self, my wife, and the council members, until 4000 individuals are chosen to go to Thule.

By tomorrow night, we who will go will say our goodbyes, gather any belongings we wish to take, and report to the city dock for departure by watercraft to Thule.

I, personally, will be on the very last boat to depart. I have been a Tarsan all my life. My mother was one of the founding colonists of this world, and she loved Tarsus more than anyone else I've ever know. She passed that love on to me. I am likely to depart Tarsus soon, on the way to the only greater adventure left to me—the unknown that all must face, sooner or later.

Serving as your governor has been the great honor of my life. I hate to leave you, to leave this city, my home. But in the name of saving the children of Tarsus, who will survive, and go on to live, to rebuild, and to honor our memories...I go gladly.

Farewell, my fellow Tarsans. It is with great love and courage that we go forward, through this, together.


	2. Chapter 2

Winona didn't wait. She did not pause or hesitate for an instant.

The only thing that surprised her, as she marched into the council chambers, was that more people weren't doing the same thing. She had been prepared to throw elbows to get to the front of the line if need be. But there was no crowd to be seen.

As she strode up the steps there were a handful of others, a few ahead of her, a few behind. No one spoke, but a quick glance at their faces—stern as concrete—showed that they all had the same intention.

When she arrived at the queue, and saw that there were only about eight people ahead of her, Winona unclenched slightly. It would have been a little satisfying to throw some elbows. But now, her only material worry in carrying out her plan was gone. The only thing left now was the action itself.

In five minutes, she was at the head of the line, and being summoned to a service desk. A crazy urge to laugh rose up in her chest as she took a seat in the uncomfortable chair across from the service agent. It was exactly like coming in to apply for a permit, or request archive access, or any of the other half-dozen quotidian administrative tasks she had undertaken in the past year on Tarsus.

The woman behind the desk was pale and gaunt. Most of them were, these days.

“Your name?” she asked briskly.

“Winona Kirk,” she said clearly into the computer's recorder.

“And what can I help you with today?”

The laughter rose up again. Winona smothered it. If this woman chose to maintain her normal formalities, it was certainly understandable.

“I'm here to volunteer to go to the island, in exchange for permission for one other person to remain.”

The woman tapped at a few screens. “Very well. You understand that you will be required to surrender yourself at the city docks by no later than 1800 hours tomorrow, and that you may take no food, and no communications equipment with you? Any violation of these rules will invalidate the agreement and result in mandatory transportation to Thule for both yourself and the individual you designate.”

“I understand.” Winona's voice was clear and level.

“Sign here to indicate agreement.”

The little screen popped up full of text. Winona didn't bother to read it. When you're making a deal with the Devil, it does no good to read the fine print. She signed.

“Very good,” the woman, sill not meeting Winona's eyes, continued. “And the individual you wish to designate to stay?”

“My son, James Kirk.” She offered up a brief moment of fervent gratitude that George was off-world. Both her sons would survive this.

“Identification number for this individual?”

Winona recited it into the recorder.

The woman tapped a few more times, then read a passage off her screen. “By the authority of Kodos, Governor of Tarsus IV, a volunteer agreement is hereby enacted. The below signed, Winona Kirk, will surrender herself at the city docks by no later than 1800 hours tomorrow, following all the rules and stipulations, a printed copy of which will be provided to her. In exchange, one individual will be designated to stay on the mainland and be immune from the lottery, receiving a ration of food and any necessary services as they are available: James Kirk, son of the above, age fourteen.”

An expression flickered across the woman's face for the first time—something like a wince. “Fourteen,” she muttered, low enough that Winona could barely catch it.

“Yes,” Winona said. The barbarity of setting the cutoff age at 12—when fourteen was so young, still a baby, really—was appalling.

“Same age as my boy,” the woman said, and her eyes flickered to Winona's for an instant, making eye contact for the first time. Winona saw something ugly in them, something like fierce anger. She suddenly recalled that administrative staff were forbidden from taking this devil's bargain, even if they wanted to. In that moment, she knew without a doubt that the woman would do anything to switch places with her.

Winona didn't know what to say.

After a moment, the woman cleared her throat and resumed in her tone of bureaucratic indifference. “The agreement is completed. Here is your confirmation number and your detailed instructions.” She handed across a small packet of papers, which Winona took. “A copy will also be sent electronically. This agreement is final, binding, and non-transferrable. It is keyed solely to the identities of you and your designee. Any questions?”

“No, no questions,” Winona said, glancing down at the precious sheaf in her hands. She had done it. She had bought her son's life. A small, hard lump grew in her throat.

“Governor Kodos and the Council thank you for your courage and sacrifice,” the woman intoned. Did Winona imagine the bitter edge in her tone? “You may go.”

Saying thank you seemed almost cruel. Without another word, Winona left. Despite knowing that the agreement was sealed and incontrovertibly locked to her DNA-secured identity code, she clutched the papers to her as if they were precious.

The line, as she exited, was slightly longer now, but still no more than two dozen people. As she hurried on her way, she spared a quick pang of pity for whoever the five-hundred-and-first person would be, arriving a moment too late.

But she had no more time to spare thinking about them, or the haunted woman behind the desk. Winona had a bigger problem on her hands now—she had to break the news to Jimmy.

*

Winona found their apartment empty when she returned. She moved to the communicator panel to message Jimmy, but when she reached for it, found herself hesitating. He'd be in touch soon enough.

Less than an hour later, she was folding clothes into her suitcase when Jimmy burst through the door.

“What is this?!” he shouted, his face blotchy red with fury.

He was holding a paper that he thrust out toward her, and it took a moment for Winona to recognize that it was another copy of his side of the agreement she'd signed. It was his dispensation to stay on the mainland, bearing the Governor's seal and her signature at the bottom.

“They gave you a copy, too?” she asked, momentarily confused. She'd been trying to work out how to break the news to him, but they hadn't said they'd be notifying the recipients. How did they even have the spare workforce, with everything going on?

“They gave me this when I went down there to try and volunteer for the island,” Jimmy said, scathingly. “Apparently, I can't volunteer, because someone has already 'designated' me.” The vitriol in his tone set her back. She'd never seen him this angry. It took her a moment for his words to sink in.

“You did what?” she asked. Her voice came out odd, breathless. Her chest felt like a ten-ton Denebian slime devil was sitting on it.

“I went to volunteer, of course! Mom! What did you think I was going to do? How could you do this?” His eyes welled up, and the blotchiness of his face started to look less like pure rage.

“James Tiberius Kirk,” she said, still unable to force enough air into her lungs. “What the hell are you talking about? YOU were going to volunteer? For who?”

“Who do you _think_?” his voice rose again, and he dashed a hand across the tears in his eyes. “For you, obviously.”

“No.” The word wasn't a remonstrance so much as an utter denial. Her mind refused to accept any part of that idea. “No.”

Jimmy flung the paper down on the floor and turned his back, stalking to the other side of their little living room. “How could you?” he repeated, his voice starting to crumble.

Winona turned back to her suitcase for a moment, trying to catch her breath. Her hands trembled only a little as she pressed it shut, the seal closing over the tidy little collection of belongings that she was taking with her to go off and die.

She would die, but both her children would live, she reminded herself. With an effort, she drew in a full breath.

“Jimmy,” she said, turning around to face his angry back. He was thinner than he had been a month ago, despite her best efforts. His narrow shoulders were up around his ears as he stared out the window. “That's not how this works. Parents sacrifice themselves to save their children, not the other way around.”

“What,” he asked hollowly, “like my father?”

Today of all days, the old wound couldn't do more than briefly sting. “Yes,” she said, simply.

There was a long pause. She wanted desperately to go embrace him, to clutch him tight to her. But she was afraid he wouldn't let her.

“Well, you know what?” Jimmy said at last, sounding still angry but more collected. She thought he sounded older than she'd ever heard him. “Maybe I'm tired of people sacrificing themselves for me. I never asked anyone to do that. Maybe it's pretty awful of you to try and do that, did you ever think of that? To make me live through that twice?”

Before she could reply, he was gone out the door again, as quickly as he'd come.

*

The thing was, children reached an age where they started to understand you. They realize you're a human being, with your own imperfections and flaws. The realization that you're not always perfect and not always right hits them sometime between age ten and fifteen, and they see you with new eyes. It's a necessary and important part of growing up—disconcerting for the parent, empowering for the child. But somehow in that process, they forgot that _you_ still understood _them_.

Winona made her preparations. Jimmy might never forgive her, but he'd be alive to work through it in therapy for the next eighty years, so what did that matter?

She sent a message: _I'm heading down to the docks at 1400. I'll be at the lab_ _working on my notes_ _until 1330 if you want to come say goodbye. I love you._

There was no reply.

*

“I'm glad you came,” she said, eyes still on the computer terminal, when she heard Jimmy's footsteps behind her. She carefully removed the smile from her face before turning around. She'd known he'd come—she still knew her son, after all.

“I'm not letting this happen,” Jimmy said. She closed out her notes on the computer. She'd done as much as she could. The report draft was pretty sloppy, but it would be enough for her collaborators back on Earth to pick up all the threads. They shouldn't lose much progress. With a silent sigh, she bid farewell to the project that she'd poured so many thousands of hours into, and turned around to face the bigger challenge: her heartbroken teenage son.

He had his arms crossed, standing in the doorway with a look of determination that reminded her of his father with a bittersweet pang. Only, she couldn't remember ever seeing a look of devastation on her husband's face like the one on Jimmy's now.

“I recorded a video for George, and one for you,” she told him, not responding to his declaration. “As well as some goodbyes for friends and your grandparents. I sent the digitals already, but the original is back at the apartment. You'll make sure George gets it, won't you?”

“Mom, are you listening to me?” his eyes were red-rimmed and wild. Had he slept at all last night? “I'm telling you, it's not happening.”

“There wasn't time to update my will—if there were even a spare lawyer on Tarsus to do it. But I sent off a statement. You boys will have to go my parents for now—in a few years you'll be old enough to decide where you want to live, anyway. I put in there a request that you be allowed to live with George once you turn sixteen, if that's what you both want.”

“Mom!” he cried, desperate. “Shut up!”

“Don't tell your mother to shut up,” she said, mildly.

“I'm not living with George, or grandma and grandpa, or anyone else. Because I'm going to live with you. We're both getting out of this. I have a plan.”

She looked at him fondly. “Honey, I wish that were true. It breaks my heart that I won't be there with you. I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” he told her. Despite everything, it soothed the sore places in her heart to hear it. “That's why I have to stop you.”

“I'm very proud of you, you know.”

“Mom,” his voice took on a warning tone. “I'm serious.”

“I know you are. But it's incontrovertible. Tied to our ident codes, which are DNA hard locked. The security forces would tear me apart if I tried to go back on it. But anyway, I'm not going to. You'll stay, and I'll go.”

He didn't reply to that, but his jaw firmed up and he straightened. She saw one hand move surreptitiously behind him.

“One last hug?” she said, smiling sadly and holding out her arms.

He nodded and let her enfold him in her embrace. She still had a few inches on him. Now, she supposed, she wouldn't get to see him close the gap and grow taller than she was, as George already had. He could still rest his face against her shoulder, as he was doing now.

Jimmy understood her. Pretty well, at least. But he'd forgotten that she understood him better than anyone.

He never saw it coming as she pressed the hypospray into his neck.

Instantly, he went limp in her arms and she struggled to keep from falling backwards. “Oof, you're heavy, Little Bean,” she said, tenderly. She hadn't called him that in years, but at the moment, he wasn't awake to object.

She managed to lower him gently onto the floor. He'd waken by midnight at the latest, and being a kid, probably wouldn't even be stiff from lying on the floor for a few hours.

Leaning over, she brushed his blond hair from his forehead and dropped one last kiss there.

She thought about taking the phaser out of his back pocket and disposing of it. It was illegal for him to have, and god only knew what he'd done to get it. But she wasn't the only one with rough days ahead. Things could get dicey even on the mainland, and he'd have to make it through the next 40 days on his own. She wouldn't be here to look out for him.

With a last lingering look, she grabbed her suitcase, turned off the lights in the lab, and went out.

*

. . . _Sixteen Days Later_ . . .

*

Winona was rudely woken out of her doze by a heavy body falling on top of her in her hospital cot.

It _hurt._ She was frail from her ordeal, and so far they hadn't managed to do anything but stick her in a quiet corner and hook her up to a nutrient slow-drip and a mild sedative. The relief team were doing their best, but with so many thousands of cases, those in relatively good shape were necessarily far down on the priority list.

The body on top of her held tight, shaking and shedding tears all over her hospital gown.

“I hate you!” the voice sobbed, clinging to her. “You asshole, I hate you!”

“Don't call your mother an asshole,” she admonished weakly, clinging back as hard as she could with her thin arms. She wasn't sure she would ever let go.


End file.
